


The Fruit of Our Labor

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 13 Inspired [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda to 13x15, Flustered Cas, Flustered Dean, Garden of Eden, M/M, Tree of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: How did Cas break the news he had to go? What was his adventure like? How did he get the fruit and how was the journey back?Here's what happened (I think).





	The Fruit of Our Labor

**Author's Note:**

> This episode was okay, but I was really wondering what was going on with Cas. Here's what I think happened.
> 
> Enjoy!

            “I’m sorry, you have to go where now?”

            Cas rolls his eyes, sagging back into his chair. “I think you’ve heard me well enough,” he mutters, “that it does not bear me repeating it.”

            Dean bites back a groan, instead kneading at the space between his brows. “Maybe I didn’t hear you,” Dean says, voice booming in the silence of the war room, “Maybe I had a stroke and I just imagined the part where you said you have to go to _Syria_!” Castiel doesn’t flinch.

            “I can assure you, there was no stroke,” Cas tells him, “If there was, you’d have soiled yourself by now.”

            His cheeks flare to life, and Dean purses his lips. “That’s not, I meant…” he stumbles, tripping over his tongue. When he notices Cas’s shoulders shaking, Dean’s protest tapers off. He glares, “Not the time to be pulling that kind of crap.”

            “I apologize,” Cas says, failing to hide his grin, “But you were starting to take this too seriously.”

            “Well then how am I supposed to take it, huh?” Dean asks, throwing his hands up, “It’s not even been a day since you Kentucky Fried Donatello’s mind, and now you want to head over to the _Middle East_?” Cas swiftly sobers up at the mention of the now brain-dead Prophet, but Dean keeps powering on. “I mean,” he continues, “I know you said we were fighting a war, but I didn’t think you meant _that_ one.”

            “Dean,” Cas sighs, the word carrying the weight of a million conversations. Dean’s gaze doesn’t waver. He pulls a nearby chair closer and sits on it, leaning forward, sliding his hand on the war table until it rests inches away from Cas’s.

            “I don’t see why you have to go,” Dean says, “Can’t we find this at any old farmer’s market or something?”

            “Fruit from the Tree of Life can’t be picked by mortal hands,” Cas explains, “After Adam and Eve had plucked the apple from the Tree of Knowledge, Chuck took precautions and made sure that anyone who dared to try would suffer great consequences.”

            “What ‘consequences’?”

            “Well,” Cas starts, thinking back, “For anyone who wants to attempt eating from the Tree of Knowledge, will have their senses blinded at a single touch, and –“

            “Woah, what do you mean?”  
            “It’s a rough translation, but it means that their minds would be wiped clean, and they’ll know nothing – as pure and innocent as if they were reborn.”

            “So exactly the opposite of what the fruits s’posed to give,” Dean says. He’s hit with a realization seconds later. “So… if someone touches the Tree of Life…”

            “A quick and painful death,” Cas confirms. Dean’s posture stiffens, and he starts to tap an uneven rhythm on the table, trying to reach forward with every few beats, only to pull back.

            “And you _seriously_ don’t want back up?”

            “Dean, you’re scared of flying –“

            “Not for you,” Dean rushes out, biting his lip to stem the stream of consciousness. He blushes, and continues rambling, “I mean… if you needed the help, that is. I can swing by and get some drugs that’ll knock me out and – and hey, I’ll be good and ready to watch your back and…” Further words die on his lips, as Cas offers him a soft smile, and bridges the gap between them to caress his fingers.

            “Thank you for the offer,” he says, “But if you were to follow me, I’d be worried _for_ you. Only humans are affected by the protection spell… angels can bypass it. And as you said… this isn’t the safest place to be in right now. And of the two of us, there’s nothing that’s out to kill _me_ over there.”

            “Not even,” Dean starts, swallowing past the dry lump in his throat, “Not even other angels?”

            “When my brothers and sisters fell,” Cas explains, “no matter where they were, they all rushed over to the United States, to regroup and strategize.”

            Dean chuckles, “Guess Kushner was right about Angels in America.”

            Cas tilts his head, “I didn’t know you were familiar with his work. How do you –”?

            And just like that, Dean pulls away, clapping his hands and plastering on a fake grin. “So… air travel. You probably need a passport, and I can throw together a bag you can bring – just so you’re not suspicious – and… maybe a few other things.” He jumps up, banging his knee against the table. He curses under his breath and stumbles back. “I can – y’know I’ll…” he jerks a thumb towards the door, “Yeah…”

            Cas can’t feel his face from how hard he was smiling.

* * *

 

            ‘ _Oh how I miss my wings_.’

            Cas pulls at his tie, tugging it until he can slip it over his head. He might not be human, but his fallen angel status means the heat can still affect him. He’s already down to his shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sweat is starting to pool in certain areas, and he can already imagine some of the words Dean would say at his appearance.

            That just brings forth a very different, very familiar heat that treks up the back of his neck.

            Stuffing his tie in his bag with all his other clothes, he tries to focus on something else. Like his wings.

            If he had them, he wouldn’t have needed to spend all those hours crammed between an old woman who truly had no business being on the plane, and a small kid who had left his mark on Cas’s shoes.

            The tennis sneakers he’s now wearing aren’t as stiff as his own, but they are less comfortable. He would have just cleaned his own shoes, but before he could even attempt the stewardess and the boy’s mother had descended upon him. His shoes were already being tossed somewhere in the back while the mother – Kathy, she had told him – offered him a pair of her husband’s extra shoes. Along with her phone number.

            That ended up probably where his boots are now.

            And now he’s trekking across the land, following the spike in power and tracking it with his grace. Walking under the hot and heavy sun, instead of just landing there after one powerful flap of his wings. And then he’d pick the fruit and fly back home to Dean and –

            His wings, he was thinking about his wings.

            Not anything else.

            But his wings aren’t that interesting after the fifth hour. Cas has nearly drained his water bottle, and he’s been forced into his undershirt. His button-down was sopping up the sweat on his forehead, wrapped around his head. There’s sand stuck in his shoes, rubbing and chafing his toes, and he regrets not taking the extra pair of socks Kathy had offered him.

            ‘ _Funny_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Eden did not feel this far away last time.’_

            He’s about to take a quick break when he feels the shift in energy. Like cold water was being poured down his back, it makes his skin prickle and goose up in anticipation. Cas focuses his grace, and feels the heavenly power pulsing a few feet in front of him.

            Drawing on adrenaline, he races ahead and throws himself headfirst into the portal.

            Shade. He’s never been more grateful for trees, their limbs providing the perfect cover from His Father’s most powerful creation – next to humans. He breathes in deep, the sweet scent of flowers long lost to time overpowering his senses.

            It’s the sharp crack of a broken twig that stirs him from his rest. Cas sits up, pulling his angel blade out from his grace.

            Staring at him, wide-eyed, was a man with long, curly hair, olive skin, and a crooked nose. He was also completely naked.

            A victim of the Tree of Knowledge.

            Cas returns his blade to his grace and stands, holding his hand out to shake. The man only stares at it, the wide-eyed fear still there.

            ‘ _Right,_ ’ Cas thinks, _‘Blank slate_.’

            There’s no telling how long this man has been here, the magic of Eden keeping its inhabitants alive forever. And like Adam and Eve before him, this man returned to his most basic self.

            “Hello…” Cas starts, unsure of what to call him. A name pops up, and he rolls with it, “…Steve. My name is Castiel.” Steve tilts his head, still unmoving. Cas drops his hand and moves forward.

            Steve darts away, hiding back into the brush.

            “No, wait!” Cas calls after him, “I just want some…” Steve is long gone, the rustling carrying further and further off, “Directions…” Looking around, Cas extends his grace forward, and finds what he is looking for.

            Unlike the trek before, Cas takes his time. The Tree of Life is not far, and it’s been too long since he’s visited Eden. The colors seem to take on new dimensions, and their vibrancy seems to reach out and connect with his grace in many ways.

            Funny, though, that the green seems… duller. Not as great as other greens he’s had the pleasure to know personally.

            The water is a different story. There’s a tempting reservoir with a waterfall that a slew of animals were gathered around. He licked his lips, imagining the feel of the pounding water on his body. Cas shook his head, breaking himself from the spell. There were more important things to do at the moment.

            But maybe he will return, one day. Introduce Jack to some of his family history, and the Winchesters to a slice of paradise.

            ‘ _Duty first_ ,’ Cas reminds himself, a mantra he’s carried with him when he was still a soldier of Heaven’s host. It kept him focus in the toughest of battles, from fighting demons to his brothers and sisters to himself from crossing further over the line of friendship between him and a certain hunter.

            “Duty first,” he mumbles dejectedly, trudging past the pool and on towards the fruit. It’s not far, the closer to the clearing he gets; the easier he can make the two trees out.

            They’re not that tall, their first branches starting about a foot shorter than Sam. But the trees aren’t the appeal. The beauty is what the trees grow.

            It’s no wonder Adam and Eve fell into temptation. The apples hanging from the boughs shone like rubies, glittering and singing to him. Whispers, in the back of his skull, of questions they can answer. The voice is deep and gruff with a slight Southern drawl. He ignores it and turns towards the other tree.

            It’s even shorter than the Tree of Knowledge, and its fruit doesn’t sparkle. It’s plain and ordinary looking, the skin of the orange rough and battered. Cas quirks a smile, the irony not lost on him. He steps closer to the tree and reaches out to complete his mission.

            Before he can even touch it, a small force pulls at his wrist.

            He looks down at where a small girl, no more than six or seven, watches him with large, grey eyes. She shakes her head and points near the tree, where Cas can see the sun-bleached bones of another person resting – a warning to anyone who dared pick this fruit.

            Cas wants to assuage the girl’s worry, but something else darts out from the underbrush.

            Steve grabs the girl and crushes her against his chest and away from Cas. He tries to put on a brave face, but the tremble of his lips still shows. Behind him, where he was originally hiding, Cas can make out a few more figures.

            “Looks like Eden is less abandoned than I thought,” Cas muses, looking back at Steve. Steve shifts on his feet, ready to flee at any moment.

            Not wanting to startle him, Cas decides actions are better than words. He turns back towards the Tree of Life and reaches for the fruit again. Steve makes a strangled noise, but Cas plucks it from its branch and looks it over. Deeming it acceptable, Cas pockets it in his bag and starts to move away from the tree.

            He doesn’t get far, his path blocked by the crowd of dwellers who are openly gawking at him. Even Steve has lost his fear, jaw slack in Cas’s direction.

            Cas, unused to this kind of scrutiny, raises his hand meekly, “…Hi?”

            The crowd scatters into the trees, shrieking in a language Cas can’t understand. Birds, startled from their nests, fly and join in with calls of their own. He frowns at where Steve and the little girl once were, crossing his arms against his chest.

            “Don’t get your feathers in a twist, Castiel, they act like that with even their own shadows.”

            Cas slips the blade free again and turns to the newcomer. He nearly drops it, when Billie the Reaper pushes herself off the Tree of Life.

            “Billie?” he asks, “What are… how are you-“

            “Still alive?” she guesses, chuckling, “Gotta say: like hunter, like angel. It’s what I told Dean – I didn’t so much as die as I got a… _promotion_.”

            It takes a second, but he understands what she’s getting at when her ring flashes before him. “You’re Death.”

            “The one and only,” she grins, stalking towards him. His grip tightens on his blade. “And as Death, I have a lot new responsibilities. One of them I already explained to Dean. But something I didn’t tell him – because I thought it was not of _import_ – was that I have a direct connection to the Tree of Life, thanks to God. When I felt someone pluck the fruit and _didn’t_ see them appear before me, I knew something must have been going on.” She looks him up and down, “And of course it had to be one of you.”

            He tips his chin, “Are you going to do anything about it?”

            “Now in a past life, maybe,” she starts, her eyes twinkling in mirth, “But things have changed. I had to shift my thoughts on certain matters… including you and your ragtag group of humans.”

            Cas’s jaw locks, biting his tongue from saying anything further.

            “But I must warn you,” she continues, inching closer, “you’re playing with dangerous magic. Are you sure you want to mess with the already weak fabric of the universe?”

            “Yes.” There’s no hesitation. His voice is firm, and he offers no questions to his motives. “If we don’t, Michael will. It’s best for us to rescue Jack and deal with the problem before _it_ comes to us.”

            Billie squints at him, watching him like a vulture on its perch. She pulls her hands behind her, and trails her gaze up and down his body.

            “You are a stubborn one,” she finally says, smirking, “you two truly deserve each other…”

            “Come again?”

            She ignores him. “I’ll let you take the fruit,” she says, “But know this – there are thousands of possibilities of how this can play out. I know them all. You know, you’re the only angel with records of probable deaths? I’ve checked… they’re all lined up, one after the other, under W,” she grins, “For Winchester.”

            Cas’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t dare look away.

            “And any one of them could come true if you take that ingredient back with you.” The smile falls from her face, and she is inches away from him. “You were brought back for a reason, Castiel,” she grabs his arm, “But sometimes those reasons are more obvious and simpler than we think. You spend too much time looking at the big picture, and you can lose sight of the most important details. Don’t take my advice lightly, it’ll hopefully be the last I give to you.”

            Cas isn’t sure what she means, but doesn’t dare speak up. “…Thank you, Billie.”

            “I really hope it ends well for you, Cas,” she tells him, “If you play your cards right, it could be #4134.” He wants to ask what she means, but she doesn’t let him speak. “You still have more to do,” she says, “Let me at least help this way.” Billie squeezes his arm, and the trees and sunlight are replaced with brick walls and fluorescents.

            “Cas?”

            He whips around, where Dean and Sam were sitting at the war table. Sam is gaping at him, while Dean rushes forward, checking him over.

            “Are you okay?” he asks, flitting his eyes over every part of him, lingering at where his white undershirt sticks to his chest, showing more than he’s used to. Cas can’t answer, mind wavering in different directions. On Billie’s words… on the plans… on the way Dean’s hand on his wrist evokes a tingle that travels up and down his arm.

            ‘ _The details, Cas,’_ he thinks, looking at Dean’s face, taking in his flush, his tongue flicking across his lips, and the slight haze in his eyes, ‘ _Focus on the details_.’

            He smiles, “Yes. I am… I’m fine.” He lifts his bag up, “I have the fruit.”

            “That’s great Cas,” Sam says, walking towards him and Dean, “But… how did you get here? Didn’t you take a plane?”

            “It’s a,” he starts, flustered, “It’s a long story.”

            “We have the time,” Dean says, smiling. Cas matches it with one of his own.

            “Yes,” he says, “we do.”

* * *

 

            Billie shrugs off her jacket on the desk and walks over towards her library. She steps into one row and lets her heels click against the tile, eyes searching for what she wants.

            The first book is right where she left it, sticking out slightly: #4134. The other is harder to find, wedged between two very thin tomes. This one is labeled #5010. She brings them over to her desk and takes a seat, putting on her reading glasses and flipping to the end of each story.

            Dean, aged 94, slips away peacefully in his sleep on a Tuesday, next to his husband.

            Castiel, having given up his grace, follows him two days later after a final visit with his grandchildren.

            Their heaven is glorious and well deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Let me know I love hearing what readers like!


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